Getting Away With Murder
by CarrionEater
Summary: In spite of all the lecturing, the anger, the bickering, Carrion knows he's getting away with murder. Contains coarse language and OMC.


In human terms, I guess I would be best described as his wife. Despite the fact that I've developed something of a hatred toward the fleshlings as a whole, where I had previously been ambivalent, I still rather appreciate their languages. They are often much more descriptive than the Galactic Standard that was my first tongue, and despite tutoring from Eks, I still don't know enough Cybertronian to say all the things I want to say in the way they need saying.

What I really am to him, I couldn't say. I don't know; our bond hasn't exactly cleared up the emotional cesspit that makes up my mate's psyche – the only things he'll admit to feeling are rage and pride. So I guess it makes no sense, when I take the time to think about it, that I'm even this drawn to my Commander. He's a miserable mech to be around, and I have to admit that while I might miss him a little when he's gone, I'll be just as unhappy when he comes back. We spend so much time arguing or bickering or pretending that our relationship is the same as it ever was, that we aren't so completely reliant on each other.

And I know I shouldn't, I _really _shouldn't let this garbage get to me, but I can't help feeling more useless as his bonded than I ever did as just another soldier; every single action I take is critiqued in the harshest terms, every training session pushes me to break – because I am inadequate, insufferably untalented and under-equipped, and I'm going to get the both of us killed.

When I _am_ happy, it's like a viral infection coursing through me; my engine runs too fast, processor hazes and thought becomes muggy, and I suddenly behave like the over-heated, over-excited scrap-head that I'm so desperately trying to outgrow. I get possessive and clingy at the slightest show of affection from him – but how can I not, when such displays are so far and so few in between? It's all I'm asking for, my right as bond-mate; to just be allowed a klik of comfort with the mech that claims me as his.

Maybe I am as crazy as others seem to think. I've heard them talking – they never stopped, not since I went and got half my face torn off trying like an idiot to run to my Commander's corpse. As much as we pretend not to be at times, everyone knows we're bonded. The only thing they don't know is when it actually happened.

No, I don't care about what other 'Con's think about me – the vast majority of them are too stupid to understand when they're being insulted instead of praised. But I can almost understand where they're coming from, calling me crazy. Starscream doesn't _like_ any one, he isn't nice or pleasant or in any way a mech one would _want_ to bond with. And yet, I am quite obviously _not_ being forced to be around him. I never had to be.

For whatever reason, no matter what I do, he manages to overlook it – even things that he might have killed another mech for. Yes, I've been punished for being an idiot; I've been hit and shoved and dented and thrown… but never enough to leave lasting damage. He's never hurt me in any way that lasted for more than a few orn, not even when I ran away from him.

He should have _killed me_ for that. With his record, he should have killed me for a lot of things that I've done. And yet, here I am; not only alive but his chosen mate.

There are so many things about him that I don't get, despite the force of our bond and how well we resonate. He gets irritated by strange things (like free-flight patterns. When no one's looking, what does it matter what form you fly in?) and takes pleasure in even odder moments. For him, though I often don't understand _why_ I'm doing it, I have changed a lot of things about myself.

See, the thing is, I _want_ to bow to him. He's my Commander, and one day he'll be the Lord of the Decepticon brand. He's never had to say anything to make me _want_ to serve him, our extended disagreement and my subsequent betrayal notwithstanding. Even when we're bickering, when I'm tired and I just want to _quit_ and the words 'hate' and 'you' are seeming more and more apt for how I feel toward him – even then, I look up to him and I want to serve.

I trust him, and that alone is a funny thing. I'll jump at the chance to call him out for being a liar and a traitor and a coward in his own right; anything I can think of to make him angry, since I lack the ability to cut him the way he can cut me. And yes, I know he's a deceiver, and I've watched him lie even to Megatron. Right to his face.

He lies for the joy of it, I sometimes think; just because he can. Still, I trust him, even as I doubt my own decision to do so. Does that make sense? That I doubt myself, my own ability to think clearly, but not him?

Because what I'm getting at is this: I know what I'm doing when I get into an argument with him. I don't forget who he is or what he could do to me. What he _should_ do to me.

Pretty much any one who's argued with me knows that I have a tendency to self-deprecate. I dig claws into myself so my opponent can't; I'll cut the cords of my own pride to save my dignity. What I'm talking about with Starscream is different, though: it's not that I feel I deserve to be broken down to scrap, and it's not that I want to be hurt. Per say.

I just want to see when he'll snap. That's the thing. I want to know the limits of this enormous thing; I want to encapsulate it and shrink it so I can understand what is going on. I just want to know how it is that I'm getting away with every conscious and unconscious slight I put against him.

The experiment I've set up is simple. When we quarrel, I goad him on, even when I feel his rage ripping at me between our bond. All it does is feed me; when he gets angry, I reflect it, whether I want to or not; instead of trying to swallow it as a sane mech might, I let my mouth run. I push and I prod and I taunt, and when that fails, I lash out physically.

Results depend on the nature of the argument. Sometimes he blows me off, either sensing that I'm trying to push him or knowing that nothing will sting me more than him leaving me to myself. But if I've done something especially stupid that time, or it was my mouth that started the fight – or, Primus help me, if he's gotten _hurt_ because of me – then he's generally not willing to put up with me for long. He might just shove me away, or he might draw the agony out with cutting words and belittling shoves (or whatever other physicality strikes his pleasure at the time).

Of course, he always knows the quickest way to cut me down, just as I know the easiest ways to make him angry. I'm a bit of a masochist, I suppose: I know how badly I'll hurt, either just in spark or with the addition of physical wounding, every time I try to push him.

But it's better, I think, when we fight. We're both liars – he's better at it than me, of course, but I'm learning – and aggression forces a little honesty into our union.


End file.
